Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Cut While Shaving


It's never quite right, he said, the way people look,
the way the music sounds, the way the words are
written.
It's never quite right, he said, all the things we are
taught, all the loves we chase, all the deaths we
die, all the lives we live,
they are never quite right,
they are hardly close to right,
these lives we live
one after the other,
piled there as history,
the waste of the species,
the crushing of the light and the way,
it's not quite right,
it's hardly right at all
he said.

don't I know it? I
answered.

I walked away from the mirror.
it was morning, it was afternoon, it was
night

nothing changed
it was locked in place.
something flashed, something broke, something
remained.

I walked down the stairway and
into it.


Submitted by Tom

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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  • Rookie Walter Durk (9/10/2007 7:56:00 PM)

    A fine commentary on life, our lives, the lives we live. Although we may understand it (or not) , life is there, waiting for us to walk down the stairway into it, again and again. (Report) Reply

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